


Babel

by karasunovolleygays



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Current Manga Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: Kageyama finds himself in a new country surrounded by strangers, yet an acquaintance long left behind ends up being his lifeline.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 7
Kudos: 171
Collections: non-karasuno kageships





	Babel

Kageyama’s ears ring from the cacophony of languages surrounding him. It is a typical thing for him at any airport, but this one is different because none of the overhead announcements are in Japanese.

Of course they won’t be; he is in Spain, after all.

He finds his way to the baggage claim via the pictographs plastered throughout every airport ever. Someone is supposed to meet him there to take him to his host family’s home. Who? He doesn’t know. He’ll just be looking for a sign with his name on it and hoping he or his organs won’t be kidnapped and sold on the black market.

Why Hoshiumi-san had seen fit to put that idea in his head, he has no idea.

Suitcase in hand, Kageyama scans the crowd until he sees a bright orange poster with his name — and in kanji rather than romaji. He sighs in relief and follows the bright sign until he reaches it. “Hello?” he asks in rusty English.

The edge of the poster lowers, and a shockingly familiar face beams at him over the top. “Nice to see ya,” answers Iwaizumi Hajime in the comforting lilt of Japanese. 

“Iwaizumi-san!” Kageyama chirps, dropping into a bow to his former senpai in the middle of a Spanish airport while dozens of onlookers stare.

A hand claps him on the shoulder. “Nah, cut that out. People are gonna think you’re nuts.” When Kageyama does as he’s bid, Iwaizumi draws him into a bracing hug, strong enough to push the air from his lungs. “Now you know how I felt when the coach told me to come pick up some Japanese player who can’t speak English _or_ Spanish. I was surprised as hell he told me it was you.”

“I — you — what?” The questions mash together in Kageyama’s mouth, eager to discern how his former senpai had somehow ended up in the same European city, thousands of kilometers away from home.

Iwaizumi takes Kageyama’s bag and gives the exit a pointed look. “C’mon, I’ll get you up to speed on the way.”

At the curb, Iwaizumi flags a taxi and rattles off something in what Kageyama assumes is Spanish, and they’re on their way. In the backseat, Iwaizumi’s grin creases his bronzed cheeks. “So I’m apparently going to keep you from starving to death until you can pick up some kind of useful vocabulary.”

“Thank you,” Kageyama answers with a flush. He had known he would have it rough for a while as he learned to assimilate, but knowing one of the most reliable people he’s ever met is there to help, it brings him relief beyond measure. 

Now the questions are starting to unstick themselves from each other. “So was that Spanish? I don’t really know what it sounds like.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Iwaizumi pulls out his wallet and brandishes two different driver’s licences: one from the US and the other Kageyama presumes is from Spain. “I lived in California for six years, so it was kind of hard _not_ to pick it up. It helped me get my job.”

Wide-eyed, Kageyama gasps. “What job do you do?”

Iwaizumi chortles. “What _don’t_ I do? I’m a sports science specialist, so I design training menus for athletes, help them figure out what they should be eating, how to warm up and warm down for what muscles they use the most. That sort of stuff. It’s basically what I did with Oikawa, only now I get paid to do it and they don’t talk back so damn much.” 

They both chuckle at that shared bit of understanding before Iwaizumi resumes. “I work with a few different teams in the area, including yours. Since I’m the only one your GM knows who speaks Japanese, I got tapped to put you up while you’re here.” When Kageyama’s brows raise in surprise, he adds, “Though I would’ve offered even if they hadn’t asked me once I found out it was you.”

Kageyama’s face reddens even further. Head bowed, he murmurs, “Thank you for taking care of me, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Just call me Hajime. Everyone else does,” Iwaizumi says with a wave, and he laughs when Kageyama’s mouth twists awkwardly around the word. “It’s fine. It’s been so long since I’ve had to use honorifics, it’s weird to hear now.”

Nodding despite knowing full well he’ll forget, Kageyama agrees. “All right.” A thought filters into his brain. “Does that mean Oikawa-san doesn’t call you ‘Iwa-chan’ anymore?”

Iwaizumi scowls, nose wrinkling in annoyance. “If only. He doesn’t count because he’s, well, _him_.”

Memories surface of his former upperclassmen from middle school, making noise and carrying on all through practice yet always smiling at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Kageyama remembers envying that level of camaraderie. He has always been awkward around other people, even before he had alienated his teammates back then. If Iwaizumi reads Kageyama’s thoughts in his expression, he makes no note of it, and the rest of the taxi trip is quiet.

The car stops at the curb in front of a sun-bleached adobe-style bungalow, adorned with the rounded arches, doorways, and windows Kageyama has seen everywhere since arriving in Barcelona. A small driveway houses a small hatchback with a sticker of a flaming volleyball on one side of the back window and Godzilla on the other.

He doesn’t doubt the ownership of the car for a moment.

“Home sweet home,” Iwaizumi says while paying for the ride. “ _Muchas gracias."_

“ _De nada,”_ replies the driver.

Through the taxi window, Kageyama offers a wave and what he thinks Iwaizumi had said: “Mu-shashu gurashiashu.”

Iwaizumi laughs and throws an arm around Kageyama’s shoulders. “Nice try, Tobio. We’ll work on that.”

The sound of his name on Iwaizumi’s lips brings a strange tingle to Kageyama’s belly. Absently rubbing the spot through his t-shirt, he lets Iwaizumi take his suitcase and lead him toward the house. 

Inside, the house is almost as foreign as the language. Instead of tatami mats or floorboards, reddish brown tiles stretch from wall to wall, with stones set into the yellow-painted plastered walls in various decorative patterns.

It’s as different from his parents’ house as a place could possibly. Instead of muted colors and sparse stretches of wall, everything about Iwaizumi’s home is bright and vibrant and alive. It suits him, Kageyama thinks.

“Nice house,” Kageyama blurts. He shrivels at the words until he sees Iwaizumi beam at the comment. 

“Thanks.” Iwaizumi sighs and plants his fists on his hips. “I really like it here. Most people around here live in apartments, but I just kind of missed having a yard, you know? I can get some work done in the fresh air, let the dog play a little.”

“Dog?” Kageyama asks, but the question is answered when Iwaizumi slides open the back door of the house and a labrador bounds inside. 

“Hey, girl,” Iwaizumi croons in English, the words aberrant but familiar to his ears. “Come meet Tobio.”

Kageyama gulps as the dog pads over to him, tail wagging gleefully and tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. Slowly, he offers his fingertips, and he gasps when she sniffs and then brushes them over the top of her head. 

Iwaizumi grins. “Looks like you two are getting on all right.” He nods toward the far corner of the main room. “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room.”

The room takes Kageyama’s breath away. It’s easily three times the size of his bedroom growing up, but rather than the bright yellows and oranges in the rest of the house, the walls are a sea green and the ceiling is painted to resemble the night sky. White stars surround the overhead light, which sits in the center like a moon. “I’ve never seen a room like this before.”

“You like it?” Iwaizumi asks, flopping the suitcase atop the bed. “I went a little apeshit when I was moving in because it’s the first house I’ve ever owned. It was fun, though.” His mouth twists into a frown. “If it’s too weird, I don’t mind repainting. Since you’re gonna live here for a while, you should feel at home.”

“No,” Kageyama snaps, and Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at his tone. Calmer, he adds, “It’s beautiful.”

After a brief tour of his accommodations, Iwaizumi leaves Kageyama to settle in. His volleyball equipment is all being shipped to his new team’s clubhouse, so all he has are the bare essentials. It’s the same stuff he’s had while bouncing around hotels rooms for the past half-dozen years: some workout clothes, a smattering of casual wear, and basic personal care items. 

It doesn’t take him more than about twenty minutes to unpack. Iwaizumi, who is humming an unfamiliar tune in the kitchen, is surprised to see him already. “I figured you’d wanna break in your room or something.”

Kageyama shrugs. “I don’t have a lot of stuff. It’s already done.”

“Oh.” Iwaizumi bites his lip and sets the wooden spoon in his hand into the bowl in front of him. “If you need to pick anything up, let me know. I’ll take you to the store or you can borrow something of mine.”

“Thank you, Iwai —” Kageyama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he amends, “Hajime-san.”

Iwaizumi snickers. “It’s progress, at least. Maybe one of these days you’ll say it without looking like you’re swallowing gravel.”

His new housemate’s mirth is infectious, and soon Kageyama joins in. For the first time since the plane had taken off from Japan, he feels like he’s found a little slice of home.

“Ow, fuck!” Kageyama growls under his breath as Iwaizumi wrenches his arm back and back some more, the stretch intense on his stiff shoulder.

Behind him, Iwaizumi chides, “You know better than to overwork yourself, but you did it anyway.” He racks Kageyama’s arm a little farther and chortles at the grunt of complaint. “This is your punishment for listening to the little volleyballs bouncing around in your skull instead of the brain cells. Now count.”

“One, two, three, four, five,” Kageyama hisses in English through clenched teeth. In Spanish, he follows up with, “ _Seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez_.”

Iwaizumi releases his hold and Kageyama groans in relief. “Got ‘em all right this time. A deal’s a deal. What do you want for dinner?”

Without hesitation, Kageyama says, “Curry.”

“You got it. Now get cleaned up and I’ll see you in the kitchen.” Iwaizumi claps him on the arm and leaves a sweating Kageyama sprawled out on a yoga mat in the middle of the living room, still in his practice clothes after leaving early in distress.

Aching but not painfully so, Kageyama drags himself into the shower and lets the water rinse away the rigors of the day. Shortly, he pads out into the kitchen wearing a tank top and a pair of board shorts (both borrowed from Iwaizumi) to join Iwaizumi in the kitchen. The warm summer air floating in through the windows is already starting to dry his hair.

“You ready?” Iwaizumi asks, handing Kageyama an apron. Once Kageyama nods and puts it on, he holds up a potato and asks, “English?”

“Patoto?” When Iwaizumi gives him a pointed look, his brows scrunch in thought before he amends, “Potato.” 

The smile the simple word elicits from Iwaizumi is dazzling. “See, you’re starting to get used to thinking and hearing what you’re saying without translating it.” He slides the potato across the counter to Kageyama, where a vegetable peeler awaits him. “Spanish.”

“Puhhhh — _papa_?”

Iwaizumi winks and shoots a finger gun at Kageyama. “You got it. Now peel.”

And peel he does, slowly and poorly but the task is eventually completed. Next come carrots, then mushrooms. Iwaizumi chops the onions because Kageyama still can’t do it without his eyes burning. The knife cuts are deplorable (Kageyama has inhaled enough curry in his lifetime to know that), but he receives praise for his efforts, along with a patient explanation on how to better on the next round.

Once the pot of curry is bubbling merrily on the burner and the rice cooker chugging along with it, they both drift back into the living room and sink into the couch side by side. Iwaizumi’s attention immediately trains on Kageyama’s shoulder. “I didn’t work you too hard, did I?”

“No.” The fingers probing his strained muscles feel good, and he leans into the touch. “Sorry I swore at you.”

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi slides down the shoulder of the tank top and massages the area. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Physical therapy doesn’t work unless you feel like cursing the person twisting you like a pretzel.”

The words barely register in Kageyama’s brain. His thoughts are flooded with the feeling of strong, purposeful fingers against his skin. For as long as he’s known Iwaizumi, Kageyama has recognized that his former senpai is good with his hands. He always had a knack for wrapping ankles and fingers and wrists better than the coach ever could, could play any sport, and his texting thumbs are legendary in their speed and accuracy. 

None of that had prepared him for the sensation of those hands on his body, turning his entire being into putty. He’s had a few rounds of massage therapy before, but those hadn’t been anything like this. His belly feels like it’s full of bouncy balls, his breathing harder to manage, his whole skin tingling. The last time he felt like this had been —

Kageyama jumps off the couch and rushes toward the bathroom. “I, uh, forgot something,” he croaks, not turning around to see Iwaizumi staring at him like he’s a lunatic but knowing it’s happening all the same.

The bathroom door slams behind him, his chest heaving like he had just sprinted a whole kilometer. The light isn’t even on, but he makes no move to flick on the switch. He has a pretty good idea what he’ll find. Face flushed around heavy-lidded eyes and an uninvited guest in his shorts.

He’s twenty-five years old. He might be a self-admitted idiot when it comes to things outside of volleyball, but he knows when he’s turned on and this is it.

There’s a knock on the door behind him, and Kageyama winces when he hears Iwaizumi’s voice finger through. “You okay?”

“Fine.” His voice is almost like a chirp and not at all convincing to his own ears.

However, Iwaizumi leaves him with a soft, “If you say so,” before walking away.

Kageyama sheds his clothes and turns on the shower once more — as cold as it will go. The water that had been so comforting a while before now buffets his nerves. His shoulder is already beginning to ache again, but the knot in his stomach is starting to unravel. 

He emerges shivering and relieved of his little problem, and with that, Kageyama corrals himself back to the kitchen. Iwaizumi’s eyes are glued to him as he returns, soggy once again and looking a fair sight worse. “Hey, if something’s wrong, you can tell me,” he says.

Closing his eyes in an attempt to ward off the concern radiating from Iwaizumi, Kageyama wraps his arms around his torso and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“Nobody says they’re fine unless they’re not, but have it your way.” He rests a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. When Kageyama flinches at the touch, Iwaizumi spins him around and gawks at him with wide eyes full of concern. “Hey, do you have a problem with people touching you?”

Kageyama shakes his head, hoping his overlong hair is hiding the fear no doubt plastered to his expression. “Only when it’s you,” he admits quietly.

In a flash, Iwaizumi’s hand is gone and he backs away. “Oh,” is all he says before stiffly marching back over to the stove to rigorously stir the curry pot.

Panic flares up in Kageyama’s chest, and he slowly assembles the pieces of information he had just provided. First he flees Iwaizumi’s touch to take a second shower in an hour, doesn’t give Iwaizumi a straight answer about how he is doing, cringes at his touch, and says Iwaizumi touching him is bothersome. “Damn it,” Kageyama spits, speeding after his gracious host and current best friend.

“That’s not what I meant!”

Iwaizumi is glaring at the pot in front of him, not looking up, and Kageyama notes how he is biting into his bottom lip so hard it’s turning white. He swallows hard. “Iwaizumi-san, I —” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he corrects, “Hajime, please listen to me.”

“Fine.” 

_Nobody says they’re fine unless they’re not._ Kageyama searches Iwaizumi’s pinched face and notices the glitter of tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. His heart lurches and his own discomfort evaporates in its wake. 

Kageyama gives into the impulse to gather Iwaizumi in his arms and give him a crushing embrace. Lips hovering next to Iwaizumi’s ear, he whispers, “I wish I knew how to say things right.”

Iwaizumi’s arms slip around Kageyama’s waist and sighs into his shoulder. “I know I probably overreacted, but I —” His voice cracks, and it’s a long, itchy minute before he finally says, “It’s complicated.”

The misery in Iwaizumi’s voice claws at Kageyama. He has to make this right, even if he humiliates himself. While it’s the last thing he wants, he can find somewhere else to live so he doesn’t subject Iwaizumi to his presence. Iwaizumi’s anger is something he can handle; his heartbreak is not.

Releasing his hold, Kageyama sits on the floor against the wall and bands his arms around his knees. “It’s not that I don’t like being touched.”

Iwaizumi turns the stove on low and sits across from Kageyama on the tiles. He offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay, Tobio. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

Kageyama buries his face in his knees and growls in frustration. “You don’t understand. When you were — and I was — I sort of —”

“Well, you’re right about one thing. I definitely don’t understand.” Iwaizumi’s fingers drag along the grout in the tile. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, you don’t have to.”

Resting his chin on his knees, Kageyama sighs. “I have to. It’s the right thing to do.” When Iwaizumi finally looks at him, he takes a deep breath and says, “It’s not that I don’t like it when you touch me. The problem is that I, uh, might like it a little too much.” He gives a pointed look at his lap and ducks his head in shame.

When he dares a peek, Kageyama shivers when he notices Iwaizumi is gaping at him. “You mean you popped a boner while I was giving you a massage and freaked out.”

Cheeks flaming, Kageyama nodded.

He certainly doesn’t expect Iwaizumi to burst into laughter. “Dude, you should see your face right now. The whole blushing virgin look is kind of cute.”

“What?”

Iwaizumi’s amusement simmers down to a chuckle and he shakes his head. “I suppose I should’ve warned you at some point, but uh . . . that happens to a lot of people. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I thought you —” Iwaizumi sobers, slouching back against a cabinet door. “I thought you thought I was some kind of perv or something.”

Brows knit in confusion, Kageyama scratches at his temple. “Wouldn’t I be the pervert?”

“No, you’re not a pervert. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Iwaizumi’s fingers twitch on his thighs. “The problem here is that I’m the one who should be apologizing.” 

Kageyama leans forward with bald interest. “What do you mean?”

“It means you weren’t the only one getting too into it.” Iwaizumi blushes and hides his face behind his hands. “Oh my god this is embarrassing.” 

Jaw slack, Kageyama gawks at Iwaizumi as the implication of the statement starts to sink in. “Do you mean . . .” Iwaizumi nods and Kageyama’s eyes bulge. “So if you’re — and I’m — that means we —”

“Yep.” Iwaizumi’s hands ball into fists on his lap. Through clenched teeth, he asks, “So, how do you feel about that?”

Kageyama’s mouth opens and closes, on the cusp of words but not remotely sure of which ones to choose. Finally, he settles on, “Why me?”

“What?”

“Why me?” he repeats. “I’m awkward and kind of dumb about important stuff. Why would someone like you feel that way about someone like me?”

Surging forward, Iwaizumi roughly frames Kageyama’s face in his hands. “Are you nuts? Yeah, you might be a little awkward, but that’s just part of who you are. As for being dumb, I don’t know why you would think that. Your brain works at warp speed, and when you _want_ to do something, nobody can stop you.

“I mean, look at you right now.” A smile teases his lips. “You’re learning two extra languages at once. You’re working your ass off to mesh with people you can’t even talk to yet, and you’re doing it really well.”

“Hajime,” Kageyama breathes. “I — I —” The words fail, and with a sigh, Kageyama rolls his eyes. “To hell with it.” With that, he tugs Iwaizumi’s face close for a wet, uncoordinated, very satisfying kiss.

When they reel apart, both breathless, Kageyama knows he’s blushing again but doesn’t give the slightest damn. The only thing he can think about is the sheen of his own saliva on Iwaizumi’s lips. 

It isn’t his first kiss. Here and there, he’ll cave into his basic impulses and take what some of the fawning fangirls freely offer him. It’s always weird, uncomfortable, and it reminds him not to bother with it for another six months or so. But this is something completely different. It’s the first kiss that makes him understand why people like doing it so much.

On the counter above them, the timer on the rice cooker goes off, and Kageyama’s belly growls in anticipation. Iwaizumi chuckles and feathers a kiss to the tip of Kageyama’s nose. “God you are so cute.” He springs to his feet, humming as he doles out bowls for both of them.

The two of them amble out to the backyard patio, and things quickly slip back into their comfortable routine. Iwaizumi has Kageyama identify various things in both English and Spanish, patiently correcting him when his tongue fumbles on the unfamiliar syllables, but a new layer of it forms.

While Kageyama is searching for the right words or sounds, Iwaizumi’s hand will slide over his in support. Sometimes, Kageyama will blurt out the right answer before his brain shorts out, or he’ll stammer and blush and forget every word he’s ever learned.

He doesn’t mind though, because either way, he spends his days doing what he loves and his nights with the most important person in his world.


End file.
